The Mark of the Beast
by Alpha Hydra
Summary: Damien gets Pip something for their anniversary. Pip likes it, but it seems to cause a few problems. Namely, with Jesus Christ. Slash. Damien/Pip.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park, the Bible, Jesus, Damien, Pip Pirrip or anything else in this story (except for maybe the plot). Sadly, they are owned by either Trey P or Matt S, Religious types, God, the people who made the omen series, Charles Dickens, and everyone else who isn't me.

**A/N: **So, I found this while I was snooping through all my unfinished fanfic and short stories. It was only like, half done and I thought "What is wrong with you Alpha Hydra??? You can't just stop writing something in the middle of a conversation!" so I finished it.

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"_...It forced all the people, small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to be given a stamped image on their hand or on their foreheads, so that no one could buy or sell except one who had the stamped image of the beast's name, or the number of his name: 666."_

-Revelation 13: 16-17.

Pip was sitting in his dining room alone, a cup of hot black tea warming up his aching hands. He held the cup under his nose for a moment, relishing in the warmth it provided as the steam rose up in thin tendrils.

Pip loved his tea. He could never start a day without a cup, nor end it without one. In a cold town like South Park, it was one of the only things that managed to properly warm him. Well, it was one of two things, really...

As if right on cue, Pip heard a knock on his door. Smiling, he set his cup down on the table and stood, wincing slightly as the pointer, middle and ring finger of his left hand gave several sharp throbs.

"Coming," he called, leaving the brightly lit dining room and stumbling slightly as he ran into his big sister's liquor cabinet.

The sun was just starting to rise, so besides the kitchen, whose windows faced east and were the first in the house to fill the place with light, the rest of the house was pretty dim. It was a bit early for Damien to come by; normally he would bang on Pip's door at a quarter to eight so that he could drive them to school. But it happened sometimes, when Damien acted sweet and thoughtful without realizing he did it. He would stop by earlier than expected and lean against the wall, watching Pip with a thoughtful expression on his face. Of course, once Pip would catch him at it, he would furrow his brow and call Pip a fag before crossing over to him and giving him a surprisingly tender kiss.

Pip liked those days, but then again he liked every day he spent with Damien.

"You're early," Pip called through the still closed door. He fiddled with the door's many locks as he continued. "I didn't even think it was physically possible for you to get up at—Jesus?"

Pip had opened the door, and instead of seeing Damien standing on his porch looking mildly irritated, Jesus Christ stood there with his hands behind his back. He smiled when Pip only continued to blink at him.

"Hello my child," Jesus said, casting a quick glance around the empty streets. "How are you?"

"Umm, right chipper, I suppose," Pip said, very confused. He stepped away from the doorway, clearly unsure. What was it that Jesus would want with him? Surely Pip hadn't done anything too stupid? "Would you like to come in?" he asked instead.

"Oh yes, thank you. It's cold out here."

Jesus followed Pip inside and took a seat on his couch. Pip stood by the coffee table, watching Jesus intently. Somewhere in the dark recesses of the house, a clock chimed, letting them know it was now half-past six.

"So Pip," Jesus finally said, one of his fingers lightly tracing over the patterns in the upholstery. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I know this might sound kind of strange, but I want to ask you about your relationship with the Antichrist."

"Oh," Pip said. Instinctively, he clasped his hands behind his back, ignoring the throbbing of his left hand. "What would you like to know about it?"

Jesus watched him with a strange look on his face, as if he had been expecting Pip to deny he even spoke to the Son of Satan.

"How long have you two been close?"

Pip smiled, unconsciously stroking the fingers of his left hand as he thought.

"Two and a half years," Pip said. _But we've only been dating for one._

Jesus nodded, frowning slightly.

"Pip, I hope you realize that the Antichrist, while he may seem sincere in his friendship with you, is deceitful."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Jesus stood, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from his white robe. He paced around the tiny living room slowly, Pip watching him curiously. In reality, Pip knew what Jesus meant. The Antichrist wasn't supposed to have friends. He wasn't supposed to love, or have feelings, or care about anything except taking over the world and eventually killing God and Jesus and whatnot. Damien himself had told Pip so.

Damien had also told Pip that he didn't like doing what he was 'supposed' to do. After all, he had said, shouldn't the son of all evil break his own rules?

"I mean that despite what you might think, Damien is just using you."

Pip forced his thoughts away from that night exactly one year ago, wrenching his eyes away from the couch to stare into Christ's eyes.

"Oh," he said at last.

He didn't really know what else to say. He knew, of course, that this wasn't the case. He knew (or hoped, rather) that Damien wasn't just using him for his nefarious world-take over schemes. But then again, this was Jesus Christ he was speaking to. Surely this man would know more about his arch-enemy than anyone else? But, on that same logic, Pip had been his boyfriend for an entire year. Damien knew things about him that no one else knew, and Pip rather fancied that it was the same with Damien. Jesus sighed, as if realizing that Pip was a lost cause.

"I'm just warning you Pip," he said. "I don't want one of my children to be hurt by a demon such as he. Some of my flock have been concerned about the amount of time he has been spending with you here on earth. They're concerned the end could be near."

"Hmm..." Pip said, stalling for time.

Now, how in the world would he answer _that_? It was probably Father Maxi who was 'concerned' about Pip's soul or whatever nonsense Jesus was on about. It _would_ be something Father Maxi would do; take Pip's private matters all the way up to Jesus Christ himself just because he couldn't convince Pip to stop talking to Damien himself.

Pip was hardly aware of Jesus making his way to the entrance before he accidentally spoke a stray thought.

"What a selfish bastard."

"What?" Jesus asked, slightly taken aback.

He turned back to Pip, and far from sending him the wrathful glare Pip had expected, instead, an almost pitying look crossed his face. Jesus turned back to Pip and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. They were almost eye to eye now, with Jesus standing only an inch or two taller than him. Pip always had been short for his age.

"I know it may seem like that," Jesus said. "But you should know that it's not his fault. Young Damien doesn't know how badly he has hurt you because he has no heart, and therefore no understanding of compassion or friendship."

"What? No, Jesus—"

"No, it's fine Pip. You don't have to explain yourself to me."

Jesus nodded in what he clearly thought was an encouraging manner. Pip didn't really want to burst his bubble, but really, even Pip knew that Damien had a heart. Okay, so compassion, maybe not so much, but he did understand friendship. After all, Pip _knew_ Damien. Pip ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Pip, what's that on your hand?"

Immediately, his hands were behind his back again.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. It was just something Damien got me for um..."

But Pip couldn't really finish that sentence without admitting to Jesus Christ that he was dating the Antichrist. He sighed again and reluctantly brought his left hand out again, palm facing downward. Jesus looked at his hand for a second, then forced his eyes back up to meet Pip's. He blinked, then looked back down at Pip's hand again.

He blinked again.

"What the hell is that?" he asked at length.

Pip cleared his throat, unable to find the right words. He looked down at his left hand, where on his pointer, middle and ring finger, three thick black 6s had been tattooed onto his skin. They stood out starkly against his pale skin, the edges slightly pink and red from irritation In all honesty, Pip thought they were rather nicely done. The numbers curled around the second joint all the way down to the knuckle, and each had a faint blue shadow that could only be seen if you were truly looking hard.

"It was, erm... a gift," Pip finally said, trying his hardest to not remember the details of last night. If he did, there was no way he would ever be able to look Jesus Christ in the face again.

" 'a gift'?" Jesus repeated. "A gift??"

"Well...yes."

Jesus said nothing for a long time. Pip was actually starting to get rather worried. He hoped that Jesus wouldn't make too much of Damien's anniversary present to him; after all, Pip had needed enough convincing as it was. He wasn't sure he could be as... persuasive...as Damien had been when he had first proposed the idea to Pip. He went back to pacing around Pip's tiny living room, his hands behind his back, his face grave.

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Jesus finally said some five minutes later. "You let Damien, the Antichrist, the bringer of the End of Times, write his mark upon your hand? You let The Beast inscribe the number of his name on you??"

"Well, he didn't _really_ do it; we went to this rather quaint tattoo parlor and—"

"Pip, you idiot!" Jesus screamed, waving his arms about furiously. Pip furrowed his brow and took a few steps back. "Don't you read the scriptures? You're the first to suffer when the world's shit hits the fan!! He's begun to mark us for his reign! Oh, this is bad. This is really bad Pip. What have you done?"

Pip smiled. He would have laughed outright, but he figured last minute that Jesus wouldn't really appreciate it. And Pip wasn't sure if he wanted a vengeful Christ on his hands. After all, the man was very frequently carrying around weaponry of various levels of danger.

"Why are you smiling boy? Don't you realize what you have done? Why, we've got to warn the town! Come on, it might not be too late to save your soul; if we hurry—"

But at that moment, Jesus was interrupted by a sharp knock. Pip nearly ran to the door, a bright smile on his face. However, when he opened it, he saw only a black box resting on his porch, a small note taped to the top. Pip's face fell a little, even as Jesus came and swept out the door, ranting about the end of days and gathering the masses. Pip watched him for a second as he walked off, a bemused smirk on his face.

Pip sighed slightly and read the note. He wasn't surprised to see Damien's messy scrawl.

_Pip,_

_Won't be going to school today; had to go help my Dad with some stuff. Should be back by tonight or tomorrow morning. Call me or something later. _

_-Damien._

_Oh. And also:_

_Never mind. Call me. _

Pip smiled, folding the note carefully and placing it in his pocket. He opened the box and found, amidst a bunch of black tissue paper, a single red rose. Pip would have laughed at Damien's strange behavior. Pip knew he wasn't the romantic sort; Damien never did anything like this for him.

Pip placed the red rose in a thin vase after he filled it with cold water, silently wondering. Then, a strange thought occurred to him.

What if Jesus was right? _Had to go help my Dad with some stuff._ What if he only marked Pip because he was planning to take over the world?

But that was ridiculous, he thought as he pulled his coat on and started his walk to school. Damien loved Pip. In an impulsive decision, Pip grabbed his pair of black suede gloves that Damien had bought him for his birthday last year. It stung a little as he pulled them on, serving as a reminder to everything Jesus had said. But Damien loved Pip. He wasn't just using him.

Was he?

Needless to say, Pip was rather distracted at school that day.

"Hey," Damien's voice crackled through to Pip's phone later that night.

"Hello Damien," he said quietly as he walked around his room. "How was your day?"

"Right chipper Pip," Damien said, and Pip could very clearly hear the teasing smirk on his boyfriend's lips.

Pip pouted.

"Are you still in Hell?"

"Yeah," Damien answered. "We're nearly done though. I should be back in South Park by tomorrow morning."

"Is that so?" Pip asked airily.

His mind drifted back to his conversation with Jesus Christ that morning, and his mood fell considerably. Was it possible that Damien was just using him?

"Something on your mind Pip?" Damien asked. Pip heard a loud scream on the other end of his phone, followed by Damien cursing, a lot of static and then silence again. "Pip, you still there?"

"Yeah, yes, I mean," Pip said. "I'm just a bit distracted."

"Oh, and why's that?"

Pip sat heavily on the corner of his bed and sighed.

"Jesus came by today."

The silence on the other end of the line was so absolute that Pip thought for a second his call had been dropped.

"Oh," Damien finally said. Pip wondered if he was doing that thing he did when he was agitated and trying not to show it; when he scowled heavily and kicked his left foot twice. "Well, what did he want?"

"Nothing really, I guess," he answered. He took a deep breath before speaking again. "He wanted to know about our relationship, and he wanted to...well, warn me."

"Oh," Damien's voice said again. When he spoke again, his voice was low, and he spoke slowly, as if weighing every word. "What did he want to warn you about?"

"About you Damien," Pip said before he lost his nerve. Now that he'd said it aloud, the notion seemed all the more terrifying. "He said you were just using me. That I shouldn't trust you, that your gift to me was just—just the beginning of your plans to rule the world."

"And what do you think Pip?" Damien asked quietly.

"I—" but Pip wasn't entirely sure how to answer. Luckily, he was spared from having to answer by a distraction on Damien's end of the line.

"Shit! Pip, listen, I've got to go really quick; I need to sort out a small problem over here. Can I call you back in like, 10 minutes?"

"Yes of course," Pip said, his voice a bit too cheerful to sound convincing. Damien must have noticed, because he hesitated slightly before answering.

"Ok," he said reluctantly. "Hey Pip, I—" Pip heard Damien take a deep breath. "I'll call you later."

"Goodbye Damien," Pip said, feeling a sudden wrenching somewhere in his chest.

Pip waited, not bothering to move from his spot on his bed, hoping for an adequate response from his boyfriend that would ease Pip's tension.

Ten minutes came and went, and Pip was beginning to get discouraged. After 25 minutes had passed with no word from Damien, Pip sighed and went to his backpack, resigning himself to doing his homework. He pulled out his history book and tried his hardest to get through chapter 17: _The Second War for Independence and the Upsurge of Nationalism._ Pip was nearly asleep after three pages.

A sharp knock on his front door awoke Pip from his erm... studying, and he sat up, wondering who could possibly be bothering him at midnight. Since his host parents were notoriously deep sleepers, Pip got up slowly and answered the door, grabbing onto the railing to ensure that he didn't fall down the stairs in his half-asleep state.

When he opened the door, he was sure that he must have fallen back asleep and had started dreaming again. There, standing in his doorway was Damien. It was snowing outside, but he was wearing only a thick black sweater and the black scarf Pip had given him for Christmas last year.

"Damien," he said dumbly. "You're here early."

It was the only thing he could think of to say.

Damien stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, a faint blush creeping up over his high cheekbones.

"Yeah," Damien said. "Can I come in?"

Pip stepped away from the door and allowed his boyfriend entrance, casting a glance up to the dark stairway to make sure his host parents hadn't been awoken. Damien went in and immediately headed up the stairs and into Pip's room. Pip blushed and followed him up the stairs.

When Pip had closed and locked his bedroom door, he turned back to Damien, who had taken off his scarf and placed it carefully on Pip's desk.

"Um, was there something you wanted to tell me?" Pip asked.

"Yeah," Damien said again. He took a deep breath. "About what you said on the phone earlier. You know, what Jesus said?"

"Oh," Pip said, remembering his conversation with Christ and feeling that familiar despair creep up on him.

"Pip, look at me," Damien said, a tinge of desperation in his voice as well. Pip looked up from the floor and met Damien's dark red eyes. "I didn't give you your gift in some stupid attempt to take over the world."

"But Jesus said—"

"I don't care what he said," Damien said, his familiar scowl marring his features. "He doesn't know anything about me, about us."

"Oh," he said again, still unsure. "But then why'd you go back down to Hell."

Damien blushed again and looked away.

"I asked my Dad for something, but he said he'd only give it to me if I helped him torture some souls for a while."

Pip raised an eyebrow.

"What did you ask him for?"

Damien sighed and pulled out a small velvet box from his pocket. He handed it to Pip, who took it with a tiny gasp. When he opened the box, he saw a thick black ring sitting inside with a small red pentagram emblazoned on it.

"It's made of glass," Damien said quietly. "Forged in the hottest fires of Hell. Dad says its stronger than any metal or precious stone you can find here on earth."

"Damien," Pip said, pulling the ring out and examining it. "I don't know what to say."

The corner of Damien's mouth quirked up slightly, and he took a step closer to Pip, watching him intently.

"Put it on," he said. "I sized it to fit the middle finger of your right hand, since your left hand already has a few...decorations on it."

Pip beamed at his boyfriend and slipped the ring on. It fit perfectly.

"Pip, I didn't have you tattoo my number onto your hand so that I could start my Apocalypse. I did it so that the world could know that you're mine."

Pip blushed.

"So you're not planning to start the End of Days then?"

"No," Damien said, finally crossing the last few feet that separated them and wrapping Pip up in his arms. "I'm not. I haven't wanted to rule the world in a long time. Don't you see Pip? I just want you."

Pip smiled and buried his face in Damien's wool sweater, ignoring the fact that it smelled like smoke and brimstone. Damien lifted Pip's face up with the tips of his fingers and gave him a sweet, chaste kiss on the lips, which turned into a less than chaste kiss, which ended with both of them lying on Pip's bed, shirtless.

Sometime later that night, at around three in the morning, Jesus Christ, Father Maxi and a multitude of others came to Pip's door, wielding torches and looking generally mob-esque. Damien had answered the door wearing nothing but his black boxer briefs, his hair a mess. Pip hadn't looked much better; at least deigning to pull on a pair of pants before descending the stairs after his boyfriend. However, his kiss-swollen lips and post-sex hair were a dead giveaway to what they'd been doing.

Pip was blushing furiously when he had to explain to his priest and his Saviour what exactly a half-naked Antichrist was doing answering his door at three in the morning. Damien had laughed at them, told them to 'mind their own fucking business', and had promptly shut the door on the mob's face. Pip was utterly mortified. Damien tried to cheer him up by arguing that if nothing else good had come from _that_ little incident, at least now Jesus Christ wouldn't come banging on Pip's door, looking to separate them anymore. Damien thought it was the best of all possible outcomes.

It took Pip some convincing before he was able to agree.


End file.
